


The Naked Truth

by lola381pce, varjohaltija



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting, Get Together, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce, https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija
Summary: Clint decides to make an extempore visit at Coulson's apartment and ask him out for a lunch. Calling beforehand would've been smart, but as he didn't, he just has to deal with whatever he might find out about his handler.





	The Naked Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks again to [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce), whose input was so great she definitely has partly created this work. I also was heavily influenced by her wonderful works and style when coming up with this idea.  
> Huge hug to [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralkana), whose comments and fixes not only made the fic an easier read, but also hopefully improved my English a bit. :)  
> I take a full responsibility of the still remaining mistakes.  
> -varjohaltija

 

Clint’s standing at the door of his handler’s apartment. He happened to be running an errand in the neighborhood and decided to stop by and ask if Coulson would be interested in joining him for lunch. He could almost hear Nat mocking that he “happened” to have business on the Upper East Side quite so many times now for someone who rarely left Brooklyn and vehemently hated Manhattan. _Pure coincidences, Nat, shut up._ He wasn’t interested in Coulson. Seriously. Sure, the senior agent was badass and funny and well, duh, handsome - come on, it’s not like Clint was blind. But no.  Besides, Coulson was most likely straight anyway. The really hot ones always were.

Clint just liked Coulson. _As a friend_. Not that he really knew the guy, but hey, that’s why you meet people. To get to know them, right? And if you really thought about it, he was probably doing Coulson a favor. Surely the man didn’t have much of a life, taking into account how in love he was with paperwork and how immaculate he always looked and how pristine his apartment was, up to and including his sock drawers (Clint may have taken few liberties when he had visited his boss in the past - it was important to know your teammates, right?)

Clint figured Coulson probably spent his free time cleaning and ironing his trousers to those perfect pleats that so nicely emphasized his muscled thighs and well rounded butt. So Clint appreciates the look of a nice ass? Who doesn’t? Purely an aesthetic thing. _You are looking too, Nat, and you only like girls._

Clint is just considering the possible places they could go to eat, when the door is opened by an unknown, half-naked man.

After the initial shock, and quickly checking the apartment number and the name sign, Clint does what comes naturally for a spy, he checks the guy over trying not to stare at the abs and the line of his junk through the bedsheet that has obviously been hastily gathered around him to offer some sort of decency.

This was probably a relative or friend who stayed the night. Not a bad looking... cousin or nephew or whatever, Clint notices. Handsome seems to run in the Coulson family. The guy also gives Clint a slightly too slow once-over and smiles - flirtatiously? Oh? Maybe Clint could ask Coulson for the guy’s number... Or maybe not. Hitting on colleagues’ family members is probably a bit of no-no.  
  
"Umm... is Phil here?" he asks. Whatever drives him to use his handler’s first name as if underlining his position as a closer friend than he really is… he isn’t willing to examine more deeply right now.  
The guy’s forehead scrunches in confusion: "Phil?"  
  
"Coulson. Phil Coulson. Bit over forty, my height, strong jaw..." Clint points to the door, where the name sign proves that he _is_ in the right place and is about to add that Coulson has 'really pretty eyes', but he stops himself. _What?_ He can feel the blush creeping up his neck.

”Oh yeah, he's here, but he told me his name is Mark," The dude shrugs nonchalantly, like lying about one's name is an everyday occurrence, and turns, waving Clint to follow.

OK, not a relative or friend, then. Clint’s brain tries desperately to offer alternate explanations that fit his view of Coulson, but it’s starting to seem very likely that the half naked back and way too exposed crack belong to a one-night stand. A very male one-night stand. Clint tries and fails to not see the fingerprints on the guys flanks. His brain, the evil thing, provides him with a reconstruction of how those appeared - and he really really would be happier with a less vivid imagination right now.  
  
”Oh, okay," Clint croaks intelligently, his mouth gone dry, and follows the dude into the apartment like he is in a trance. He’s utterly unable to do the right thing, which would be excusing himself and letting Coulson have his privacy. Or maybe it isn’t Coulson - maybe Coulson has a brother or a cousin who has borrowed his apartment and has picked up a guy. It’s… plausible, yeah? Or maybe Coulson is airbnb-ing his extra room? Or...  
  
"You have a guest," the dude calls from the main bedroom door. Well, there go guest and airbnb theories.  
  
"Thanks Will," answers a voice rough with sleep, which without a question belongs to the man Clint knows as Phil Coulson, but who he apparently doesn’t know _at all_ .  
  
"It's Walt, but close enough," the dude laughs as he starts towards the bathroom and gestures for Clint to come to the door.  
  
Clint can’t stop himself even if he somehow wasn’t morbidly curious, so he steps closer and peeks carefully inside.  
  
"Uh, hi Boss?"

So far Clint's brain has categorically refused to accept that his handler has a sex life at all, let alone one night stands, and with _guys_ of all things. But it’s set straight (no, not really) by what he sees.  
  
The room is a mess. If Clint didn't know better, he'd guess there had been a fight of some sort. There are discarded clothes everywhere, the bedsheets are half off, the bed is unaligned and a pile of books is spread on the floor, probably from the bedside table that has been knocked over.

The unmistakable smell of sex is thick enough to cut with a knife. Musk, sweat, come and latex fill Clint’s nostrils, and his cock jerks in an almost Pavlovian reaction.

Coulson is lying on the bed on his stomach, face mostly buried in the pillow. He appears to be naked but covered by sheets enough to help Clint's brain from short-circuiting on the spot.  
  
Coulson rolls onto his side groaning and slowly, almost leisurely, stretches the kinks out with satisfied grunts as his spine and shoulders pop. (Clint's brain flatlines).

"What can I help you with Barton?"

Coulson doesn't seem annoyed. Just... very relaxed, if somewhat tired. His hair is a mess, odd tufts sticking out of the general disarray in a way that shouldn’t really be that cute (and sexy!). His chest hair (chest hair!) is forming clumps of curls, like he’s just out of a shower or been sweating a lot recently. Clint silently curses his excellent vision which tells him that there are undeniable bitemarks and patches of dried come on his skin as well.

He drinks in the sight in front of him. It’s impolite to stare, sure, but he dares anyone to try not to if they are ever in this situation. Because once he drags his eyes from one place, there is another to lure his gaze. The muscular arms (jesus fuck, how has he hidden those under his suits?), the teasing amount he sees of Coulson’s (very nice!) abs… and did he mention the chest hair that covers two dusky nipples and well-formed pecs… his fingers twitch with the sudden urge to touch.

He can’t get any words out. Damn. He should be able to play this cool. He’s a trained spy. Moreover, despite what anybody says, he's an adult. He has a sex life himself. He can deal with other adult people having a sex life, right?  
  
But his traitorous brain has recovered from the shock of seeing a near naked Coulson with sex mussed hair, and the piling evidence of the wild romp he’s just had, and is now forming visions of how the bedsheets got tangled and the bedside table was knocked over. They also provide the epiphany that Nat was goddamn right (again) and Clint has the serious hots for his handler.  
  
Also he realizes, he'd prefer to be the one  - the only one - to make Coulson look so unabashedly _satiated_.  
  
"Clint?" There is a tinge of worry in Coulson's voice. A crease is starting to form between his eyebrows.  
  
Clint hates that look on Coulson. He wants to smooth that crease away, wants to make Coulson smile. This is when Clint’s brain informs that _‘you love him_ ’ and leaves the building.

"Go out with me!" Clint blurts, much to his own shock.  
  
_Aww, mouth, no!!!! Also: Love!? WHAT?!_  
  
It's Coulson's turn to gape stupidly.  
  
Which is good because Clint also needs time to catch on a bit to his own words. And thoughts. And feels. Somehow all of this seems to go in the wrong order, but it’s his life, what’s new?  
  
Gathering himself, he continues "I realize this is kinda inappropriate timing with Will - Walt - whatever and all, but...  but yeah, would you maybe consider... coffee or pizza or a movie... I mean... um..." He’s rubbing his neck with his hand, another hand fiddling with the hem of his jacket and how is he reduced to feeling like an anxious teenager? Emotions suck ass.  
  
All the surprise momentum he's had vanishes, because Coulson just keeps staring. Seconds spill, like ice-cold water, on the little ember of hope he’s holding on to.  
  
Just as Coulson is opening his mouth, Will-Walt returns from the bathroom, wearing jeans, and steps around Clint to grab his shirt from a chair.  
  
"Wanna go and get some breakfast together, _Mark_ ?" he asks, in the tone that suggests it's more of a polite line than an actual request. As Coulson courteously declines, he just waves cheerfully and heads out. The door shuts behind him, leaving the apartment in an awkward silence.  
  
Clint is still trapped at the bedroom door, torn between the urge to flee and the need to stay.  
  
He’s not wanted here, he's sure. So... in spite of what he might feel, he should really be going.  
  
He shuffles awkwardly "I, um... I'm gonna go too? You can just forget what I just said, okay?"  He starts to turn away.  
  
Coulson sits up in the bed, and Clint cannot help his head snapping back and staring at how the sheet glides down to Coulson's lap and drops partly down to the floor, pulled by its own weight.

"No," Coulson says, with determination.

Clint almost doesn’t hear him - because lord he tries but he’s incapable of tearing his eyes from all the glorious nakedness, cannot stop the fantasies he denies ever having of his handler flashing back through his mind, cannot stop his body reacting in a way that Coulson will definitely notice.

 _Aw, little dude, no._ That at least helps him direct his eyes at the floor. Well, now he definitely cannot pretend it was anything other than a date that he suggested.

He’s mortified, afraid to look at Coulson, who without a doubt has his disapproving face on. Goddammit. Clint has really done it now. Coulson will probably tell him that he’s flattered, but not interested and maybe he will even disband their strike team because of Clint’s inappropriate behaviour. Stupid stupid stupid!

“Let’s hear it, Boss,” he says, as he eventually raises his gaze, steeling himself for the inevitable.  
  
Instead of frowning, Coulson smiles warmly, in the way that makes Clint's stomach do funny things. _Definitely love. Oh fuck._

“I just turned down a breakfast with company, because I thought I was promised I could have you instead. Or… was I mistaken somehow?" Coulson is adjusting the sheet and gives Clint a look that doesn’t leave any question as to whether he wants Clint for more than just to join him for coffee and pancakes.

Clint’s brain is about to melt as he tries to digest the obvious fact that his newly found interest is not one-sided. Coulson positively _smoldering_ at him isn’t helping. At all. Somehow his two neurons that are still working manage to open his mouth. "Breakfast? With you? Now? Um, yeah, sure!"

Clint has never seen Coulson beam like he does now.

“Do I come over there, or…” Clint asks. _So not cool, Barton. Be cool._

Coulson smiles, happy and bright. “I hope it’s not a disappointment to you, but I only go to bed on the first date with the guys I’m not serious about.”

“I hope that sharing the bunk in the safe house doesn’t count,” Clint says and grins.

“No, unless being almost killed by the Armenian mafia counts as a date?”

Clint shakes his head. He can’t seem to stop smiling. Something big and warm and a bit overwhelming is forming in his chest.

“And seriously I’m hungry and... if there _is_ any food in the fridge, it’s probably already learned to walk,” Coulson sighs.

For all the ogling he has done just now, Clint finally gives Coulson some privacy and turns his back, when he reaches for the towel and drapes it around his hips. Clint’s sudden decency makes Coulson chuckle warmly. The sound jumps from the auditory cortex straight into the growing warmth inside Clint, curling in there to purr like a satisfied cat.

“Make yourself comfortable - I’ll take a quick shower,” Coulson says, gently brushing up against Clint on his way to the bathroom. He stops to give Clint an affirming squeeze on a shoulder.

Clint isn't quite punching air, but he’s so excited he bounces a bit when he walks to the hallway to wait.  
  
Soon enough Coulson joins him, way too pristine for a guy who just a little time ago looked totally debauched. Freaking ninja.  
  
Coulson takes his jacket and after a tiny hesitation, puts his hand on the small of Clint's back, warm and intimate.

"Shall we, Clint?" he asks, gently guiding Clint toward the door.

"Yeah, lets go," Clint says and leans into Phil, delighted at the unexpected but awesome way things have turned out.


End file.
